Words of Advice
by Kitty le Fay
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is the last person Greg thought he would be looking to for advice, especially in regards to women, but it works.
1. Pearls

**AN: For as many _Sherlock_ fics I've written, I'm a little disappointed in myself for how little Sherlock is actually featured in them. Naturally, I had to do something about it and I thought of what he would do when it came to my favourite couple in the show. This was the result. Enjoy!**

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The first word of advice was given the day before her birthday.

Greg's original plan was to give Molly a leather-bound copy of _Jane Eyre_ because he knew that it was her favourite book. He'd seen her reading her old paperback copy several times before and he'd always liked how her eyes would light up whenever she would analyze Jane's character, her relationship with her eccentric employer or her foil with his mad wife.

He was telling John about his plan to buy the copy after work, but he had almost forgotten that Sherlock was in the room studying what appeared to be an orange pip; one of five, in fact.

"Oh, god no," Sherlock said. "You don't want to do that."

"Shut up, Sherlock," John said. His tone was as casual as a simple hello.

"Why don't I?" Greg asked. "It's her favourite book."

"Exactly, so she already has it. She's either got several copies of it at home already or she's emotionally attached to the old paperback she's always reading from because of some sort of sentimental value, though the latter is more likely."

Greg thought for a moment and so did John, as Sherlock returned to his studies as if no conversation had taken place. Molly _had_ spoken fondly of the time she had bought the copy at a weekend trip to Howarth with her grandmother. The consulting dickhead had a very good point, though neither Greg nor John were willing to say so out loud.

"So what would you suggest?" John asked. "Since you're such an expert on the subject of women with a particular obsession with the Brontë sisters."

"Give her something related to the book."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Like what?"

"Pearls."

Greg paused. His brow furrowed. "I don't follow."

It was now Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes as he lifted his gaze from the microscope. "Honestly, Gael…"

"Greg!"

"…for someone who fawns over the woman as often as you do, it amazes me that you haven't even made an effort to read her favourite book, let alone ask her to dinner. If you had, you'd remember that Rochester gives Jane a pearl necklace as an engagement present. Though I'd hardly recommend proposing as quickly as he did and while I _dearly_ hope you haven't driven your ex-wife mad and locked up her in an attic somewhere, the significance of a pearl necklace will have her on her knees. It wouldn't kill you to read the book either."

Sherlock returns to his studies and leaves Greg unable to argue.

"You probably won't be getting it from Marks and Spencer's, then," John added. "And maybe it's best not to mention Sherlock's advice."

Greg nodded in agreement and left before Sherlock could suggest anything else, but as he left he heard something about a vintage shop in Soho. The idea of Sherlock giving him any kind of advice, particularly regarding women, was a little more than unsettling.

He managed to find a pearl necklace in Soho for fifty pounds as well as a copy of _Jane Eyre_ for five on the way home. After boxing and wrapping the necklace he read the book to sleep.

The next day, Greg had visited Molly at the lab and left the gift on her desk for her to find. When he saw Molly at the pub later that day, she was wearing the necklace with pride.

"Thank you, Greg. It's beautiful."

She then did something she had never done before and kissed him on the cheek.


	2. Vegetarian

The second word of advice was given just after he had finally asked her to dinner.

It had taken him long enough after the divorce, the fall, the wedding and the breakup with her now ex-fiance. He had suggested a new restaurant called Bohemia. Perhaps a more romantic place to ask a woman to dinner–particularly one so long admired–would be anywhere but the path lab where she worked and without such an audience as Sherlock Holmes.

Once Molly left to gather a file she had forgotten, Sherlock was whispering in Greg's ear: "You might want to change the location, Gilbert."

Greg furrowed his brow. "It's Greg and why would I do that?"

"Bohemia hasn't a single vegetarian meal on the menu."

"Molly's a vegetarian?"

"Of course she is. Haven't you noticed?"

Greg looked back on any other time he had seen Molly eat. He couldn't think of anything he had seen her eat at lunch other than a few soups and salads here and there. He did vaguely recall her unable to touch her dish at the wedding. "So why didn't she say so?"

"Because she's Molly Hooper, too polite for her own good. Even _you_ know that."

Greg, though offended by the last remark, thought a moment and thought it a fair point. Molly was polite to a fault and, sadly, a rather big one.

"Right," Molly said, returning to the lab with a new file. "Sorry about that, I…"

"Molly," Greg said. "It looks like Bohemia might not be open tonight, so do you know any other place?"

Greg saw Sherlock smirking at him. Molly looked almost relieved at the question. "Oh," she said. "Um…I quite like The Red Circle. It's not far from here, actually."

Greg nodded. "Red Circle it is, then."

The Red Circle it was. They met there after work with a chaste kiss on the cheek and started off with drinks. Molly had a vegetarian lasagne while Greg enjoyed the pasta puttanesca.

"I can't take any kind of meat," Molly said. "I know it's silly. I should be used to worse things, being a pathologist and all, but I just love animals too much."

Greg smiled. He was close to telling her that he knew, but he chose not to. He liked learning it from her more than anyone else.


	3. Handcuffs

The third word of advice was given barely an hour before the third date.

They had only fooled around before, once in his flat over coffee and once more in a secluded corner. Greg had kissed Molly before and memorized what he could of her body through clothes. They had not yet slept together, though hints had been dropped.

At the Three Gables pub, Greg had mentioned offhandedly that he was going out with Molly again later that evening.

"Things going well, then?" John asked. "Third date, isn't it?"

Greg nodded, barely able to suppress the smile on his face. "Third date."

Sherlock, who had his nose stuck in a book throughout his measuring cylinder of lager, shot a sharp stare at Greg. It was almost threatening, but Greg was willing to shrug it off.

"So," John continued. "D'you think you're going to…"

John didn't need to finish the sentence. Greg only smirked and took another swig of Guinness. "Maybe."

"Bring the handcuffs," Sherlock said, returning to the book as though he had said nothing at all.

Greg nearly choked on his drink until John pat him on the back. "What?!"

Sherlock looked up from his book. His expression was as blank as a chalkboard. "The handcuffs you have on you now," he said. "Bring them. Or simulate them. Either way, she should be happy."

"How the hell would you know something like that?"

"Her sort always do."

Sherlock returned to his book. Greg and John only stared at one another and then back at Sherlock.

"What do you mean 'her sort?'" John asked.

Sherlock simply shrugged, but didn't look up from his book. "Conventional, humble, shy. The sort you'd least expect to take an interest in the likes of handcuffs and such. Many who seek control in private also tend to have a lack of control in public, much like Molly."

Greg tried to imagine Molly either naked and in handcuffs or having him naked and in handcuffs. Though the thought was more than a little arousing, it was equally more than a little unusual. Molly had never shown any sign of dominance or submission even when he had her under his touch on the sofa, apart from perhaps a tug at his hair here and a nip on the neck there.

Molly liked kink. Who knew?

"Do I want to know how you know anything about anything sex-related?" John asked Sherlock, who was now measuring his drink.

"Nope."

And it was left at that.

Greg spent the night at Molly's flat the following night and woke up a more than satisfied man the next morning.


	4. Jealous

The fourth word of advice was given after the first fight.

By this point, Greg had not only known Molly long enough to know that she rarely showed anger, even when she was angry, but he had been dating her long enough to know that when she was angry, people knew. When she was angry at her brother, she shouted at him. When she was angry at Sherlock, she slapped him. This time she was angry at Greg and she neither shouted at him nor slapped him. She just took one cold look at him at work and left. She didn't even say good morning to him.

"I just gave her tea," Greg said when asked, distracted from the body at his feet. "I always give her tea in the morning when we see each other at work."

Sherlock was about to say something before John told him: "Shut up, Sherlock."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "He has to know. He'll spend the rest of his life a noble bachelor, otherwise."

This worried Greg. "What do I have to know?"

"Nothing," John said, but Sherlock interrupted.

"Molly is too bitter to say, but she's still angry with you about last night's argument."

Greg thought a moment of the previous night. They were at a party of a friend's and Molly's mood had shifted throughout the evening, though she never really stated why. He had apologized for arriving late at the party and he had made sure not to drink too much, even at the open bar, but there was no argument.

Greg told Sherlock all of this, but was only met with a scoff.

"Oh, of course there was!" he said. "Even if she hasn't said it out loud, you have to have done _something_ to make her this jealous."

Greg's first reaction was to ask what it was he could have possibly done, but the word "jealous" was much more noticeable.

"Jealous?" he asked. "What the hell makes you think she's jealous?"

"Clenched fists, sharp hand movements, animated body language," Sherlock listed. "She has avoided eye contact with you throughout the majority of the day, but she hasn't been able to keep an eye off your left hand. Tell me, Gary, was your wife there?"

"It's Greg, she's my _ex_ -wife and no."

"But she was at least mentioned."

Greg thought again for a moment to when he was talking to a friend of Molly's. At some point, kids came up and he mentioned that he had a daughter who was turning fifteen soon. He had even shared a picture of her and once someone mentioned how pretty she was, Greg must have made a mistake in saying that her looks came from her mother. Molly was only three feet away.

"Oh, shit!"

Sherlock nodded as Greg kept his face in his hand for an entire minute cursing himself.

Greg left the crime scene immediately after and ran to the path lab. What he said was not meant to be hurtful, but it was a stupid thing to say nonetheless. He insisted that while his daughter is still precious to him, all feelings he ever had for her mother are long gone and apologized thrice.

Molly soon smiled and kissed him. "Apology accepted."


	5. Sunflowers

The fifth word of advice was given at their first anniversary.

It had been a year since they had made their relationship official and what a year it had been! Within the course of ten months, they had met each others' friends and families–Greg's daughter, in particular, got along surprisingly well with Molly–they had made the decision to move in together and not too long after they had, they had agreed to adopt a kitten together.

Greg couldn't remember the last time he had felt this happy. It felt odd, being in the first solid relationship they had both been in for so long that actually felt fulfilling, but it was the most wonderful kind of odd. The fact that it had lasted an entire year was nothing short of a miracle.

Naturally, Sherlock was the first person he went to when he was lost on what to give Molly for their anniversary. Molly was not at all an extravagant woman, so that left anything like any more clothes and jewelry out of the question. She bought more books than groceries, so another book would seem no different to a cup of tea. When he asked her what she wanted, a simple "surprise me" was no help.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was more than enough help.

"Sunflowers," he said. "Always sunflowers."

By this time, Greg had learned to accept Sherlock's advice. His support, though unnerving, was something of a relief in his life and his advice seemed to work. Sometimes even the things as little as what flowers to give worked.

Greg didn't even bother to ask why or how he knew what Molly's favourite flowers were. He just took the advice and bought a bouquet of sunflowers.

Molly recieved the sunflowers at work and thanked Greg at home with a new watch, a passionate kiss and an entire night to themselves.


	6. Groomsman

The seventh word of advice was given when he proposed.

It had been three years. If Greg were a sensible man he would have waited five, but then he wouldn't have chosen his career either. Throughout his career he had escaped death nearly ten times. He hadn't done so since things with Molly started getting serious, but he had the feeling that it was bound to happen more since he got the promotion as DCI.

Molly was ecstatic for him when he told her the news and they celebrated with sex and champagne. By the end of the evening they were as drunk on one another as they were on the drink. Greg had lost count of how many times they had made love and was too happy to care.

"Marry me, Molls," he said.

It was only a joke at first, but once the words escaped his mouth he didn't care. He wanted this moment to last the rest of his life and life was short. The life of a chief inspector was bound to be particularly short, especially given his age. If that were to be the case for the rest of Greg's life, he wanted Molly to be a part of it with every step of the way.

Molly tearfully accepted and the two announced their engagement to their friends the very next day.

They had agreed to a summer wedding. Molly already knew exactly what she was going to wear, where she wanted the ceremony and where she wanted to go for the honeymoon. Mary was going to be the maid of honour and Mrs. Hudson was going to give her away. Poor Molly was a mess and a half in all the planning, but Greg knew that the first thing was first.

Greg needed a best man.

"John Watson," Sherlock suggested. "Best man you'll ever meet."

"True," said Greg. "John's a good man, but I don't see him as my best man."

"I see. Dimmock, then. He's a man and good at it."

"Yes, he is, but he's not gonna be my best man."

"Gregson, then. Great man."

"Eh…not really."

"Alright, great-ish."

"Still not gonna be my best man."

"Ah. So you'll be looking at any relatives. Should I check for backgrounds, or…"

"Actually," Greg interrupted. "I've already thought of who I want my best man to be."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Without me?"

"Yes. Well…it _is_ you, if I'm honest."

Sherlock looked as though he had suddenly gone catatonic. He stood there staring at Greg for the entirety of an hour before clearing his throat and reluctantly accepting.


End file.
